


The 'Fuck You' Bouquet

by VoidArcana



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, The slightest of slight shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidArcana/pseuds/VoidArcana
Summary: Bog King wasn't exactly expecting a wild storm of a woman to come crashing through the door of his flower shop, but sometimes life surprises you.





	The 'Fuck You' Bouquet

Bog King had never had the greatest aspirations in life, but he was fairly content with where he had ended up. He was 32, the owner of a decently thriving florist shop, and lived in an apartment above the shop with his mother. It was a simple arrangement, and one that suited him. Despite his mother’s love-based meddling, he liked having her around, and the his business meant he lived quite comfortably. Of course, just when you were comfortable is when life decides to kick you in the ass. 

It started on a normal enough day, because huge changes weren’t usually the kind of thing that announced themselves with much fanfare. Huge changes were very rude that way. It being a normal enough day, Bog was sitting in the back of his shop, working on a standard floral arrangement for display, and hopefully sale, when SHE walked through the door. Well, walked probably wasn’t the right word. Slammed maybe? Kicked, he decided later, she definitely kicked her way through his door, a storm introducing this wild, untamed woman who would change his life. 

Startled by the loud noise, and fearful for his door, Bog looked up as she entered. Steph was working the counter, so he didn’t bother getting up, but even from the back room he could see a tiny woman with messy, fly away brown hair stalk up to the counter, and slam her hand down on it. 

“What bouquet would you recommend for a self centred bastard with his head up his own ass?” She snarled, almost visible fury blazing from her. Steph, bless her, was unfazed by the display, veteran as she was (Valentine’s day was a battlefield).   
“Boss!” She called over her shoulder, already aware Bog was paying an uncharacteriscally close attention. “We need a number 42 out here!” 

Bog was already moving, gathering the flowers he would need. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a ‘Fuck You’ bouquet, and he’d even received one or two in his time. As he put the bouquet together, he kept glancing at the woman waiting out front. She still seemed upset, although her rage was now simmering instead of boiling over. Her patience seemed mostly unaffected, as she never glanced at her watch or tapped her feet, but occasionally wandered over to the flower displays, then back to the counter, a kind of slow, sightseeing, pacing around the shop. 

Bog found himself glancing often as he worked, paying far more attention than he ever had before to a customer (he had Steph and Thane for that). He was intrigued by this woman, so much so that when the flowers were wrapped, he brought it out to the front counter himself instead of passing it to Steph as was his usual custom. Steph took it in stride, as she did most things, simply nodding at her boss and going back to whatever it was she did on the computer all day (mostly solitaire)

The woman was standing on the other side of the shop, examining one of his gaudier display pieces, so he cleared his throat to get her attention, and presented her with her flowers.   
“Looks kinda pretty for an asshole bouquet.” She said, eyeing it. “Seems almost too nice to be honest.”   
Bog, strangely nervous, scratched the back of his head, and began to explain the bouquet, the second of two unusual things occurring today as he talked to a customer.   
“Well, you see these purple flowers on the side?” He pointed as he talked, demonstrating the blooms he meant. “They’re foxglove, and mean insincerity. The geraniums, the ones at the front, mean stupidity, and the white one in the middle is meadowsweet, for uselessness.”

He stopped and coughed as the young woman nodded along, seemingly enraptured in his explanation. Bog was not used to talking to customers at all, let alone ones that actually listened. Still, he’d begun his explanation, and since he wasn’t about to stop now, he ploughed ahead.  
“These are yellow carnations, and they say ‘you have disappointed me-“  
“Ain’t that the truth.” The woman chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Nothing but the biggest disappointment, ol’ Roland.” As she chuckled, she seemed to remember Bog, who had frozen when she interrupted him. Bog watched, fascinated, as she blushed under his stare, before waving her hand impatiently. “What about the last flower, that orange one?” She asked, in a poor attempt at recovery.  
Bog took pity however. “That would be an orange lily, for hatred.”  
“So you’re telling me that if I give this to someone, it tells them that they’re useless, stupid, a disappointment and I hate them?”  
“All wrapped up in a neat little bow even.”  
“Brilliant!” A beaming smile spread across the woman’s face, and Bog was struck with how different it made her look. Still wild and untamed, but with joy. He was frozen, unable to speak to this captivating woman as she took her bundle of flowers, careful despite her exuberance, and swept out of his shop, leaving him dumbfounded in her wake.

Steph very helpfully came over to help her boss pick his jaw back up off the floor and steer him towards the back room, where he would wonder just who the hell was that storm masquerading as a person, and what was the likelihood of them meeting again?


End file.
